


Broken

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Eye Trauma, Heartbreak, M/M, Protective friend Hawke, Slow recovery, Slurs, Torture, Tranquility, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: “The Healer won’t be available. Please go home.”Carver had never truly believed Anders' raging against the Templars. Now, however, he was faced with the blank and utter truth of what his order brothers are capable of. All that's left for him is to try and salvage what little he has left and pick up some scattered pieces...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the aftermath of some pretty bad Anders whump, and it will be 99% Carver angst. I would like to add the warning that it'll break off pretty early: Don't expect a full recovery in this fic. It'll just be the first few steps in the right direction.

_“Seriously? After all that, you go and join the Templar order?”_

_“Calm down magey, you’re-”_

_“No! I’m not going to calm down. I thought you cared, and then you do_ this _. This was a mistake-”_

 _“Anders no! You don’t understand! I just want to_ mean _something. I want to be someone more than just Garrett’s little brother!”_

 _“Well, congratulations, on becoming something,_ Ser Hawke _. You’ve successfully become a disappointment.”_

…

It still hurt.

It had been more than a year, and it still hurt.

Carver hadn’t spoken to Anders since. He had avoided asking Garrett about how the mage was doing as well, and apparently they had been fairly successful at hiding whatever hesitant feelings had been developing between them, because Garrett hadn’t mentioned it himself either.

He knew Anders hated the Templars with a passion. Of course he knew. But he also knew Anders didn’t hate _him_ , and he thought he might’ve been able to give it a chance…

…instead he’d called him _that_. That word that still made him ache, still made his eyes burn like he was about to cry.

He should never have cared for the mage. Never should’ve fallen-

-and yet he had. And he still couldn’t forget it.

It had been easy enough to keep the Templars away from Anders’ clinic in Darktown, thanks to his brother’s efforts. Anders was not to be touched, and the Templars knew it. Every time they considered going after the healer after all, all Carver had to do was drop his brother’s name and they would be squirming again.

Garrett had become bloody powerful since he returned from the Deep Roads with a fortune.

_But not this time._

Carver had squared his shoulders, grimaced, and then followed his orders. Flanked by what must be the most sadistic Templar recruits – Ser Alrik’s pet recruits, as he liked to call them – he was on his way to Darktown.

He argued. He argued _hard_. They couldn’t take the healer.

He was a Grey Warden.

He was a friend of one of the now most influential men of the city.

He was helping the poor.

He was keeping Kirkwall safe from plagues that could easily climb from Darktown up to the higher quarters.

Nothing helped. The harder he argued, the more secure they became in their conviction that the Darktown Healer must be brought in.

All Carver’s arguing accomplished was that he was ordered to go get the man himself, if he cared so much. Of course, not alone, because they hardly trusted him now after getting this worked up about it. No, they sent along the two men who were most likely to block Carver on every turn, to stop him from being so much as apologetic for capturing the poor people’s healer.

The two biggest sadists still below his station, who were known to despise him for how friendly he was with mages.

It was cruel.

He wasn’t ready to face Anders.

“You’re stalling, Hawke.”

Carver grumbled, rolling his eyes and picking up his pace.

It was true, he _was_  stalling. Even though it was useless now. Perhaps he was secretly hoping that Anders was somehow feeling something was off, and getting out while he could. It would be a miracle, but Carver could hope in the very least.

And his hopes seemed to manifest just a little more firmly when they ascended the last stairs to the clinic.

The door was closed, the lantern dark. Sick people were cluttered before the door, looking up and immediately glaring at the approaching Templars.

“Let us through,” one of his fellows – Kain, the bastard – grunted at the people blocking his path.

“There’s nothing for you here, Templars,” one old woman defied them. “The Healer isn’t in. Hasn’t been for over a day.”

“The coward is just hiding.”

Kain shoved the elderly woman aside, stomping to the door and scattering the people. His buddy Malder followed suite, chuckling at the way the poor scrambled away from their path.

Carver paused to help the woman, but she lashed out at him, despite the fact that he was wearing full plate. Carver cringed, muttering an apology and quickly chasing after the other two.

If Anders truly was inside, he wouldn’t want Kain and Malder to be inside before he could check on the mage. He wouldn’t welcome them.

Not that he would actually mind if Anders threw a fireball at these two tits.

“It’s locked,” Kain grunted as he rattled the doorknob. Carver opened his mouth to make a smart comment, but before he could Kain had stepped back and kicked the door in with unnecessary force.

“Andraste’s tits, are you insane?! How about calling for him to open the door first?!”

Carver shoved Kain aside to stalk in first, looking around frantically for the healer-

-only to stop short.

 _He was going to be sick_.

The healer was in. The healer was at the back wall of the clinic, slumped against the wall with his arms strung high above him.

Even as Carver rushed forward he couldn’t help but taking in every sickening detail.

Anders’ hands had turned a scary shade of white, cut off from blood for – what had the woman said? More than a day! – and the parts of his skin visible where his clothes were torn were veined black and red. Scorched. Like when Anders would turn blue with his Fade spirit, but _burned through_.

His head was leaned backwards against the wall, showing the long cracked column of his throat first and drawing the attention lower. His coat had been ripped open, and words had been crudely carved into his skin.

_‘Whore’. ‘Robe’. ‘Pisspot’. ‘Property of the Templars’. ‘Fucktoy’._

Carver sobbed, freezing two steps away from the mage he’d nursed a crush on for more than two years.

Like a grotesque mockery of tears, blood had run in streaks off his cheeks. Skin cracked, bleeding and oozing pus, edges scorched black. His eyes were black pits of congealed and burned blood.

 _The smell of burnt flesh and stale urine was overwhelming_.

A word carved into his forehead. ‘ _Healer’_. Highlighted with the sunburst crest.

_He was choking. He wanted to speak but he was choking – on tears, on bile, he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to stop looking but Maker, he couldn’t turn away._

“Look boys, pisspot’s open already!” Kain barked a laugh as he approached Carver from behind. “Might as well make use of it before we have to drag his corpse back up.”

Carver was shaking. His anger had yet to burst, he wasn’t quite capable of feeling anything beyond his horror yet.  He was feeling _sick, sick sick-_

His eyes flashed, seeing from the corner of his eyes how Kain pushed down the Templar skirts, digging into it to free his cock. It wasn’t a graceful task, having to take a piss in full armour, but that wasn’t Kain’s intention anyway.

His intention was to step close, aim for Anders’ slightly agape mouth-

Carver saw red, swirling around and punching Kain square in the nose. The Templar recruit stumbled one step back before going down like a sack of potatoes.

There was a short silence – aside from Carver panting while he watched the blood shine on his gauntlet  – before Malder sprung in action.

“-you bastard-”

Carver figured it would be polite to warn Malder first, but he was hardly feeling polite at the moment. He just turned, raised his fist, and when Malder dug in his heels in, in the belated realisation that Carver was going to give himself the same treatment as his friend, Carver lashed out.

The crunch of bone should’ve been sickening, but it was nothing compared to the state of Anders anyway. Malder went down much like Kain had, and Carver managed to take two stumbling steps away from the fallen Templars before he threw up.

Breakfast wasn’t much special for Templar recruits, so Carver managed to empty his stomach’s contents faster than he liked to dwell on. He stood hunched for a moment longer, grimacing at the taste of bile and the way his jaw was aching after the violent puking, but then he managed to pull himself together.

Carver stomped to the door while taking off his gauntlets, throwing them on the floor first before leaning out just far enough to grab the first Darktowner that didn’t look like he was coughing up his lungs or missing a leg.

“Go get Hawke, without delay. If he’s going to dawdle, tell him I’ll punch him for every minute he wastes, because it’s _bloody urgent_.”

The streetrat nodded nervously before taking off, and Carver grimaced at the gathered crowd.

“The Healer won’t be available. Please go home.”

_Naturally, the crowd rioted._

It took him far too long to calm the people down and send them off, and by the time he was able to return to the apostate’s body he was certain his brother couldn’t be much longer. Still, he went to Anders, crouching before him and looking at his mangled body as if staring might fix it.

He wanted to vomit all over again, but there was nothing left in his stomach.

The sunburst crest.

They made Anders Tranquil. Some Templars came here without their superiors knowing and tortured Anders before making him Tranquil.

The worst was, Carver knew the bastards wouldn’t get caught nor punished. Even if he reported it, the worst that would happen was a public lecturing on correct treatment of the mages. Nobody would bother to find the ones who did this. Nobody would care.

“I’m s-so sorry Anders.”

He sobbed again, closing his eyes and reaching out. But when his fingers brushed against Anders’ cheek, the skin was warm.

His eyes snapped open, both his hands cupping Anders’ jaw and holding him, feeling him – _warm. He was warm, and soft, not dead._ He leaned in to listen, and sure enough he could hear the rasp of his shallow breath.

“Maker have mercy,” he whimpered, carefully lowering Anders’ head back against the wall before standing up, drawing his knife. He reached to cut the ropes holding Anders’ dead looking hands above his head, but before he could press the knife to the rope he heard the clatter of his brother enter.

“Carver what is- _Andraste’s sweet mercy!_ ”

And the process of vomiting and heaving for air was repeated, all the while Carver stood trembling.

“When you’re quite done, brother, come help me get him down without hurting him even more. He’s still alive.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, Carver. What a surprise.”

Carver scowled, stopping in his halfway through the door. “Don’t you have anything better to do than spying on your own front door?”

“Plenty. But we need to have a talk first. Join me in the library.”

_Bloody tit_.

He wasn’t here to have a chat with Garrett fucking Hawke. He was here to check on Anders, and Garrett bloody well knew it. It had been three days since they carried the Healer up here, and Carver had been jittery the entire time. He needed to know how Anders was, he needed to know if he was really-

_He didn’t want to think about it, but the sunburst brand haunted him whenever he closed his eyes now. And there were Tranquil everywhere in the Gallows._

“I’m here to see Anders.”

“I know.” The smug sound of ‘I knew it’. Out of place, considering it was obvious. “You never come visit me on your own accord. And apparently you _do_  visit Anders. So join me in the library.”

Carver sighed, rolling his eyes. He smacked the door closed behind him and started to stalk through the building – he’d find Anders himself, just like he intended.

“ _Carver_.”

“What!?” He stopped to face his brother, gesturing wildly with one hand – dangerously close to Garrett’s face, but the bastard didn’t even flinch. “I’m not here for you! Go swim in your money or something, I’m going to see Anders!”

This time Garrett’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, grabbing Carver’s wrist. He would be able to pull free easily but… Garrett looked angry now. Something deep inside of him cowed at the sight, and _he bloody well hated it_.

“This is _my_  home. Either you listen to me, or I’ll see you jailed for trespassing. Is that clear?”

Carver grunted, shaking off Garrett’s hand and clenching his fists by his side. When Garrett didn’t move he nudged his head impatiently. _Go on to the library then, you bossy, pompous twat._

Garrett took it and turned away, leading Carver through the estate. It was even bigger than Carver had expected, but he wasn’t here to admire his brother’s new wealth. Although he was a little uncertain on how he would find Anders by himself around here.

He doubted he would have to worry about that anymore now. He had his brother to worry about instead.

Garrett took a seat in a lush chair, but Carver remained standing. Folding his hands behind his back, feet slightly away from one another, a stance of rest and yet vigilance. A stance he knew so well now.

“Tell me, Carver. What’s the relationship between you and Anders?”

It was a good thing he wasn’t drinking anything, because he would’ve spit it all out over his brother while the heat rose to his face.

“W-what makes you think there’s anything between me and Anders? What the fuck, Garrett!? What’s your problem!?”

“Then tell me. Why were you in his clinic?”

Carver paused at that, suddenly feeling hot for entirely different reasons. _Nervous. Fuck it._

“I was there on… Templar business.” He glanced away guiltily, unable to meet his brother’s eyes now. “They gave me a direct order. I tried to argue- I-in any case I reported back that the ‘Darktown Healer’ was lethally wounded and made Tranquil – unauthorised at that. You won’t have to worry about Templars on your doorstep to drag him to the Gallows.”

“And the Templars who did it?”

“A couple of men went missing at the same time. I suspect them, but the order isn’t doing much about it…”

Garrett grimaced, shaking his head. “You won’t need to worry about that anymore. We found… bits and pieces of discarded armour. Helmets, gauntlets… and suspiciously much ashes all around where Anders had been strung up. Merrill swears they are human ashes.”

Carver blinked, trying to process that. Human ashes in a circle around Anders… only discarded bits of armour left. _The burned cracks of his skin, the empty fire pits of his eyes-_

“I’m still expecting some explanation on what’s between you and Anders.”

Carver swallowed, shifting slightly. He felt too hot and too cold in his armour.

“Just let me see Anders,” he pleaded weakly, nervous, pained. _The sunburst crest on his forehead, but his body surrounded by the remains of Templars incinerated in full armour._

“Why? What do _you_  care?”

“For fuck’s sake Garrett!”

Garrett was up on his feet, right in Carver’s face, and he cursed as he stumbled a step back to avoid his brother. Garrett just moved closer though, following right behind him, eyes narrowed and _angry._

“What are you doing here Carver? Why are you so concerned about Anders? I thought you hated him, I thought he was safe from you because you couldn’t stand him! Why are you so intent to see him, so worried about his state? Is it guilt? Is it your fault he has that mark on his forehead?!”

“No!”

Carver’s back hit the wall, and for a moment he considered making himself small, cowering from his big brother just like when he was a child. When Garrett was the bigger one, bullying him like only big brothers do. Garrett had never been a cruel big brother, but he always made sure Carver _knew_  who was the strongest.

He didn’t want to be cowed now.

He barely managed to square his shoulders, even if he stood completely backed against the wall.

“No. It’s not my fault he was made Tranquil. I risked my own hide keeping him safe. The reason _I_  was sent down there was because I had argued for his freedom too hard.” He breathed in deeply, face hot, sweat on his forehead cold. “You may say what you like about the Knight-Commander, but this treatment would not be condoned. Whoever did this, they were on their own. The order would never back this up.”

Garrett watched him for a moment longer with narrowed eyes, before stepping back.

“The good news is Anders has been dreaming. The bad news… is that Anders has been _dreaming_.”

Carver gaped, once again caught off guard by the information. Only when he realised what his brother was saying, his eyes widened, and he stepped forward. Forward, up against Garrett, grabbing his collar – in enthusiasm. Not in anger. It clearly surprised Garrett, and it would surprise Carver too if he was minding himself a little more.

“Dreaming? Did you just say he’s been _dreaming_? So he’s not Tranquil?!”

His wrist was caught, but his hand was not forced away. Garrett looked worried.

“I think so. At first it was just Darkspawn dreams. I figured those may be different, considering he’s a Warden. I figured he might get those even while Tranquil. Then he started moaning about a mother… but I think, in hindsight, those were Darkspawn dreams too.”

“He talked about broodmothers once,” Carver muttered, trying to figure out if he should be worried again. Was this possible? Were Warden dreams different from Fade dreams? Now he cursed himself for never asking if the dwarven Wardens had those dreams too.

“Then he started mumbling about not wanting to be alone though. I think he was dreaming about being locked up in solitary, I think he mentioned such a thing before. That couldn’t have been a Grey Warden dream. So…”

“Did he wake up yet?” Carver turned, ready to stalk out, but Garrett’s grip on his wrist tightened.

“No. He hasn’t. Carver, tell me why he’s been dreaming about you.”

“…say what now?”

“He calls out for you. Why is he calling out for _you_?”

“…me?”

Carver would swear Garrett was just fucking with him now. But his expression was dead-serious, his eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursed in inquiry. Angry curiosity fitted him better than mockery now.

“I-I don’t… I mean…” His face burned. His thoughts were a swirling mess of _yes he still thinks of me_  and _no please don’t_  and _Garrett you fucker_  but he couldn’t express any of them. His mouth opened and closed helplessly and shame burned in the pit of his stomach together with this dreadful hope.

_Perhaps Anders didn’t hate him yet. Perhaps he could still fix this._

Garrett’s face softened, and suddenly Carver was released. Unexpected, and yet so very _Garrett_  to read him without even trying. _Tosser._

“Up the stairs in the front hall, then down the hallway on the left behind the second door. And take off that bloody armour first, Carver. If he wakes up, he won’t want to see a Templar first thing.”

Carver all but flew up the stairs, and if pieces of his armour were to be found all through the hallway, it sure wasn’t his fault.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders still looked horrid.

Of course he did. The way Carver found him, he doubted the mage would ever give anyone the same dashing smile again. His eyes were gone, and even if they were covered by bandages now, the burned cracks over his skin were drawing immediate attention. Like dry desert ground, but burned rather than parched.

And the brand. The brand, and those crude letters carved into Anders’ forehead.

No, Anders would never be the same handsome apostate as he had been.

Carver wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or scared by the fact that it didn’t do anything to his feelings about the mage.

No matter how mangled, he still loved this man. It hurt and ached in his chest, and right here where he could watch Anders’ sleeping face it made his stomach roil and protest. He loved Anders and he had disappointed him by choosing his own path. He had angered Anders so much by just picking his own life.

_Like Anders preferred him to stay in his brother’s shadow, where he belonged._

Of course, Carver knew perfectly well that was not the problem. Anders would likely have encouraged almost anything he could’ve done, but his hate for Templars was rooted deeply. Carver agreed that most Templars were arses, but the thing was that he didn’t really know the extent of it before he joined the order and witnessed what happened in the Gallows for himself.

Or worse, what had happened in the clinic now.

Because this was work of Templar hands. As much as Carver wanted to deny it, the Templars were the only ones who knew how to perform the Rite. And some men had gone missing. And some armour parts had been found by Garrett. And really, the slur ‘Robe’ was used mostly by Templars.

Templars had done this to Anders.

And Carver kinda agreed with Anders’ reaction to finding out he had joined the Templars now.

He clenched his fists on the sheets, bending his head so he wouldn’t have to look at the scarred face any longer.

_Anders had been right. Carver was nothing but a disappointment. No matter how hard he tried to be someone, he could never do anything right when he wasn’t following his brother._

And yet, he would finish what he started. He would be a Templar, and he would do what was right. He would bring justice back into the order, even if it was the last thing he did.

“And what _did_  happen to Justice when they were doing this anyway,” he muttered, glancing up at Anders’ face again.

No response. Not even a twitch of muscles.

At least Anders was sleeping peacefully now, although it didn’t do much to reassure Carver. As much as he hated the idea of Anders suffering nightmares, he would’ve liked to have seen it now. Because seeing it with his own eyes would be proof. If Anders had nightmares now, and visibly tossed and turned with them, it would be proof that he wasn’t Tranquil.

His Anders.

His hand was shaking when he reached up to carefully cup Anders’ cheek. His skin was hot and feverish, and Carver had no idea whether that should worry him or not.

Who was even taking care of the mage? Anders was the Healer, but who was healing him now? Was Garrett taking care of him himself? Was their mother? As much as Leandra had taken care of her children when they had been sick, he had trouble imagining her caring for someone who was a stranger to her.

He tried to picture her feeding Anders, wiping him down with a wet cloth, keeping him comfortable… and it didn’t fit.

He should ask Garrett.

Carver closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and placing his other hand on Anders’ other cheek, cupping his broken face from both sides now.

He couldn’t exactly go back to Garrett and ask now. Not after that spectacle of before. Not after Garrett… so obviously realised Carver wasn’t here to look after a friend he barely tolerated. Garrett had always known him better than he liked; he had little doubt Garrett knew exactly what Carver’s feelings were for the apostate now. He would probably be joking with Varric about Carver’s habit of ‘pulling pigtails when he fancied someone’ this very evening. He couldn’t bear to face his brother now and suffer that knowing smirk.

“Carver…”

Carver all but jumped, eyes flying open to meet those beautiful honey brown-

-Anders was still asleep.

“…Carver, please… please don’t…”

Carver’s breath hitched, his hands tensing on Anders’ cheeks. ‘ _Don’t’ what?_

“Hmmnn…”

Carver managed to force out a shaky breath before leaning closer. “Anders, I’m here. I won’t harm you Anders, I promise.”

“...hnndon’t leave-”

Carver closed his eyes again, because they were burning now. And he couldn’t be found crying all over his mage.

“I won’t leave,” he managed breathlessly. “I promise, Anders. I won’t leave.”

Anders calmed, face turning to nuzzle weakly into one of Carver’s hands. A deep breath followed, as if taking in the scent of Carver’s hand, and then the slow rhythm of his breathing continued once more.

Sleeping peacefully.

With the only difference that Carver was fighting not to cry now.

…

“Anders.”

“That’s right, that’s a good kitty. Aren’t you a good kitty, Ser Pounce-a-Lot?”

“ _Anders_. It is time for you to return. You can not linger here any longer.”

“Oh, pish-posh. I can always make more time to play with my favourite kitty; can’t I Ser Pounce-a-Lot, _can’t I_?”

“Anders. Please.”

This finally made him halt, hands frozen mid-air with the cat – or the spirit, or perhaps the toy, maybe even just air.

“You must return. If you stay here much longer, you will die.”

Anders remained quiet, staring at the shimmering shape in his hands rather than the spirit behind him. Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Or what he wanted to be Ser Pounce-a-Lot, anyway.

“I can’t go back.”

“You _must_ , Anders.”

“Will you come with me?”

Now it was the spirit’s turn to fall silent, and that was all the answer Anders needed.

“I’m impressed you’re not giving me blunt truth,” he joked weakly, lowering the cat back down to his lap. “I never imagined you’d pick up _subtlety_  from the mortal realm, of all things.”

“Anders, I can not watch you sit here, waiting to die. This death would be unjust. You have a purpose and-” the spirit faltered, enough for Anders to finally dare glance up at him. A knight in shining armour, just like he remembered from when they first met. Justice. The way he was meant to be. Home. “-and more than your purpose, I could not bear to see a friend die when I could help it.”

“Oh, Justice…” Anders closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. Because Justice was right. “I’ll miss you. I’ll be lonely.”

“No Anders. You won’t have to be lonely anymore.” He felt the touch of something fleeting, something ghostly, insubstantial – _spirit_. “Justice will be served. You’ll be taken care of.”

“Will you die?”

“I am home.”

And that was a terribly cryptic answer and Anders had no idea if that was a yes, a no or a maybe. He only knew he’d have to find peace with that response.

…

“I take it he didn’t wake up yet?”

Carver looked up at his brother wearily, fingers fumbling with clasps of his armour he never had trouble with.

“He sleeps peacefully.”

“That’s good.”

Garrett nodded, looking satisfied. He wasn’t trying to needle Carver now, and he was grateful for it. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He really rather not be talking to Garrett now in the first place, but it was hard to avoid the man in his own house. Especially if Carver had to gear up in his armour again before he could leave.

He managed to make it quick though. Garrett remained silent, just observing him in that way that made Carver’s hairs stand on end as he finished dressing. He was in a hurry to leave.

“When will you be back?”

Carver halted right as he was about to step away, towards the front door – _towards fresh air_.

“I… won’t be able to go anywhere until next week. I only get a few hours leave a week… perhaps I can request more for the sake of a sick friend.” He doubted it. But he could try.

“Make it a sick family member,” Garrett muttered, giving Carver’s shoulder a pat. When Carver gave him a sideways glance, he could swear that was Garrett’s mischievous face. Getting them into trouble, like the good old days.

This was the brother he liked to remember.


	4. Chapter 4

When Carver returned a almost week later, Garrett was not waiting for him.

A relief, because he could really do without his brother’s comments. Then again, it made him feel a bit foolish for fearing to find his brother behind the door again, considering Garrett had no way of knowing when Carver would stop by again. Carver hadn’t known until an hour before that he’d be able to get a few hours time to himself today.

He was allowed in by an elven servant who looked mightily uncomfortable, but was clearly told about him. She bowed and left him to his own devices immediately, leaving Carver a little awkwardly in the hallway to decide whether the armour had to go again or not.

He figured he might as well do his brother the favour if he was going to make use of his hospitality. Garrett was not comfortable with Carver’s armour - and more importantly, Anders wouldn’t be either if he had woken up by now. Not that he’d be able to see but… who knows, the mage might know it by touch. Or sound. Or in any case, the heavy gauntlets would keep Carver from touching Anders.

So he slowly but carefully stripped off the heavy plate, placing each part of his armour on the bench in the hallway before moving further in in just his underclothes. He just hoped he wouldn’t run into his mother like this, really.

Garrett was found by Anders’ side, and Carver was immediately grateful he took his armour off.

His brother glanced up from where he had been dabbing the healer’s face with a washcloth, pursing his lips at the sight.

“Good. I expected you a few days later, but it’s good you’re here. Anders woke up briefly yesterday.”

Garrett stood up while Carver desperately tried to swallow, his mouth and throat parched at the sight of Anders. He looked no better, heavy bruising now discoloured into a wide blossoming array of purple and yellow and a sick greenish tint that made Carver feel a bit sick all over again. He didn’t notice Garrett approaching him until his wrist was gently caught, hand brought up and the wet washcloth pressed into his palm. Garrett gave him an encouraging nod before passing him into the hallway, leaving the two of them alone.

Carver almost balked at the sharp contrast to the week before.

His brother had seemed all but ready to rip Carver a new one for possibly being the one to hurt Anders, and now he was… accepting, encouraging… Like he _wanted_  things to be resolved between him and the mage now.

Maybe it was just for Anders’ healing. Anders needed all support he could get right now, and Carver’s support may not be worth much to him, every small bit counted. Nevermind that his support was worth _everything_ , his being the report stating Anders was found Tranquil and the healer from Darktown now officially scrapped off the list of wanted apostates. That was… only to be expected. Carver would’ve done that for anyone - everyone else would’ve done that for Anders. It was nothing special.

He knelt next to the bed, chewing his lip while mentally warring with himself. Was he worth Anders? Was he worth being here when Anders may wake up any minute and see him first? He liked that thought but it scared him almost more.

Anders would reject him. Anders hated him.

Almost a week of having only himself to argue with about Anders’ feelings for him had set him on a downwards spiral, and he would swear Anders only called his name in his sleep out of fear that Carver would harm him.

Out of fear that someone he once called a friend would harm him, maim him, make him Tranquil and cut slurs into his skin-

As soon as the wash cloth in his hand touched the mage’s feverish face, eyes shot open.

Carver pulled away as if burned, nearly losing his balance from his half crouch. Only a second later he choked on a half scream, quickly stuffing one hand in his mouth to _be quiet, don’t vomit on Anders now, oh Maker his eyes-_

There were no eyes, just blistered eyelids popping open to try see, but nothing to see with. Anders groaned in pain but his eyelids fluttered before closing again over the burned pits where his eyes were supposed to be.

“A-Anders,” Carver brought out, his voice strangled. He quickly sat forward again, reaching for Anders face, but his touch tore a tortured scream from the man’s throat.

“Anders! It’s me, Carver! P-please, you’re not in danger, you-” he couldn’t say more without risking Anders hearing he was about to start crying. He would not be that weak, not now. Not ever. He wasn’t that weak and he had shed more than enough tears over this, it was time to stand strong for Anders and see if he needed him.

Anders gave him no response though, his mouth opening and closing over some pained wheezes before his head thrashed to the side and back. Carver quickly dropped the rag to grab Anders’ face, holding him still so he would not hurt himself more.

Anders’ skin was burning, moist with sweat and fluids that Carver didn’t want to think about, but no doubt came from the wounds carved into his flesh. He tried to keep his grip as gentle as possible, but it still drew scared noises from the mage.

“Calm down, magey. It’s just me, I will not harm you I promise.”

He was proud of how steady his voice was, and Anders seemed to calm slowly.

He was like a spooked animal. Carver could only wonder how Anders was feeling right now, and it was difficult enough to think about it. Tranquil, but clearly not actually tranquil. Did he lose something else instead? This emotional mess; was it just because of the pain and all that happened, or was this what the sunburst brand on his forehead caused? Could Anders heal from this or not?

“I’m here, Anders… I’m so sorry I was too late, but I’m here now. I’m so sorry…”

Anders mouth seemed to work around an attempt to speak and Carver realised belatedly that the mage was no doubt in dire need of water. He glanced around to find a mug of water on the table next to the bed, quickly grabbing for it now he dared to let go of Anders’ face again.

Anders spluttered in surprise at the touch of cool water to his lips and Carver cursed under his breath. “Sorry, sorry. I should’ve told- I’m giving you water. Can you swallow?”

A tense silence fell between them before Anders’ lips parted and Carver carefully pressed the mug there again, tilting it slowly until the water could flow. Anders swallowed once, twice, with clear difficulty, half the water streaming out of the corner’s of his mouth when swallowing, but getting some water into him at least.

Carver took the mug away only to ask. “More? Slower?”

A wheezing sound was his response, and although Carver couldn’t be sure, it sounded like a negative. He’d interpret it as a negative.

“I’ll give you some more in a minute then,” he promised, trying to sound gentle. No idea if that worked out, he wasn’t known for being good at the… delicate stuff. Being nice, smart or politically correct. Anders was the healer here.

Luckily Anders seemed to accept these words and sort of calmed down where he lay, only twitching a little on the sheets. He even allowed it when Carver picked up the washcloth and carefully started dabbing his face again.

“I know I’m not really the one you want to have next to you right now, but Garrett left just a minute ago. Bet he had to go leak or something.”

No response but a little more twitching, followed by a distressed sound. Was Carver’s presence distressing? Was he scaring the mage by saying Garrett wasn’t in the room?

“He’ll be right back, I’m sure,” he promised quickly, hesitating before dabbing the cloth down Anders’ throat as well. He purposely did not attempt to pull away the sheets. If he was in Anders’ place that would definitely scare him.

Then again, anything would probably scare him if he was in Anders’ place… especially a Templar leaning over you.

“Do you uhm… want me to leave? …and get Garrett, I mean?”

Anders shook his head so quickly Carver had to hurry to grab his face again, hissing when he saw several cuts breaking open again at the sudden movement. He quickly dabbed at the lines cut into Anders’ forehead, seemingly the most vulnerable ones at the moment.

“Okay, don’t worry. I won’t leave you by yourself. I’ll stick around until Garrett comes back and then-”

He gasped in alarm when Anders suddenly pushed himself up, attempting to sit upright. He faltered about halfway though, and Carver made a grab for him to keep him from falling down too hard. Anders used his momentum to turn into Carver’s arms, and before he knew it he was holding the mage he loved to his chest, a broken thing desperate to not be left alone.

“T-this really wasn’t one of your smarter plans, magey,” he croaked uncomfortably. As carefully as he possibly could he moved up on his knees until he could stand on his feet and sit down on the edge of the bed instead, trying not to jostle the mage too much while moving. With effort he could straighten out Anders body so he would not be in too awkward an angle before trying to lay the man down again in the bed.

Only Anders resisted.

“N-no-”

The voice was so soft Carver wasn’t entirely sure if he had just imagined it. He blinked down at Anders against him, uncertain what to do when Anders pressed harder against him again.

“Don’t do that! You’re going to hurt yourself- more than you already are! I won’t leave you alone, I promise, so please lay down properly again. I don’t know how your wounds-”

“Carver… please, Carver…”

It was more whimpering than speaking, and all of a sudden Carver was not so intent on getting the mage off him anymore. He hugged Anders close to his chest, trying to be careful with him, but suddenly afraid to let go, afraid to lose him, afraid to be pushed away.

“I’m so-so sorry Anders…”

He wasn’t sure when he started crying either, but he found himself weeping into slightly greasy blond hair, washed but not recently, soft and smelling of Anders, his Anders. He loved this man and he hadn’t gotten to hug him all that often, only got to kiss him a handful of times before he messed up, and _Maker did he mess up_. He held on for dear life, trying to stifle his sobs, trying not to shake too hard with each sob wracking through his body.

“C-Carver, don’t leave me.”

“I won’t leave you,” Carver promised again, sniffling harshly. “I’ll never leave you again. I promise Anders, I promise. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me and even then, I’ll never leave you again.”

_I’ll never let this happen again._


End file.
